FIGHT! Magazine - Archives » November 2009https://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine
Just another WordPress siteThu, 07 Nov 2013 21:36:48 +0000en-UShourly1http://wordpress.org/?v=3.4.1All For Onehttps://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/all-for-one-570/
https://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/all-for-one-570/#commentsSun, 15 Nov 2009 00:00:00 +0000Jason Chambershttp://www.fightmagazine.comI love mixed martial arts and the people involved in it. So what do you do when you love something? You protect it. I’ve had the privilege of being involved in MMA for more than 15 years now, and I, like many, have watched the sport grow from its days of relative obscurity to the [...]

]]>I love mixed martial arts and the people involved in it. So what do you do when you love something? You protect it. I’ve had the privilege of being involved in MMA for more than 15 years now, and I, like many, have watched the sport grow from its days of relative obscurity to the global phenomenon that it is today. MMA has been dubbed “the fastest-growing sport in the world.” “Sport” is the word that sticks out in my head. Sports have athletes. Athletes perpetuate their respective sports through hard work, practice and performance. In countless interviews, fighters are quoted as saying that they “want to put on a good show” or “we care about the fans.” Clearly, the fighters are looking out for the fans, but who is looking out for the fighters?

Many professional sports have some type of union or players association to protect their athletes. Why not MMA? MMA fighters arguably train harder, sacrifice more and put more on the line than many other pro athletes, for a fraction of the pay. Very few people are lured to this sport for financial gain. For the vast majority of guys and girls who get into the cage, it’s much deeper than that.

I believe that an MMA union would not only benefit the fighters but would also further the sport. Many organizations dread the idea of a union. They view it as something that would impede the smaller shows, thus creating less upand- coming talent for bigger shows such as the UFC, Strikeforce and Bellator. I completely disagree. If executed correctly, a union could circumvent the headaches that many promotions deal with that arise from the unprofessional conduct of its fighters. Dissapointments such as missing weight, backing out of fights, vulgarity, drug use, etc., could all be monitored by a union. It would, in essence, weed out the fighters who give the sport a bad name. It’s a proven fact that union workers in any field help create a more stable and productive workforce. Why not MMA?

A fighters union could also open the door to a plethora of benefits for the athletes. These could include the creation of a pension plan, the ability to negotiate as a group, standardized contracts and a much-needed health plan.

Why isn’t there an MMA union? The simple answer is this: fear. Fighters fear getting blacklisted from the bigger shows; managers fear they will lose power and, in return, money; and the promoters fear that it will tie their hands.

Let’s imagine a world where there was a fighters union — something akin to SAG (Screen Actors Guild). SAG is a professional actors union. It is something that actors must join if they want to act in television or film. It governs everything from health care and pensions to monitoring the jobs they work. It collects past due payments, ensures a safe work environment (I know, the irony), regulates the number of hours one works and is vigilant of its members’ well-being. Now mind you, one doesn’t have to join SAG to be a “working” actor, but the pros heavily outweigh the cons. If an actor does not join SAG, he or she could very well end up working 20-hour days, for $100, on an independent project that is “non-union” and, hence, does not need to adhere to any set of standards.

I suggest that if a union is formed, we follow a similar path as SAG. We could create a “union” that benefited both the fighters and the promoters. Fighters would pay a small fee to join the union along with quarterly dues predicated on how much income was earned. In return, the union would look out for the interest of its members. Fighters would not have to worry about being asked to fight someone 20 pounds heavier, having to fight when a last-minute rule was changed, or not getting paid for an event. The list could go on and on. Similar to SAG minimums (the least you can get paid for a specific type of job – i.e., commercial, guest star, etc.), there could be fighter minimums, calculated by A-, B-, C- and D-level shows. This would help ensure that professional fighters could actually make a living as such.

Various promotions could qualify based on things such as attendance, television deals and ticket revenue (minus overhead). This way, promoters could count on a professional to act like a professional. I’ve seen and heard countless stories of fighters that have shown up in baggy shorts to fight, thrown a fit when they’ve lost – some have even started fights at their own fights. These actions reflect poorly on not only the individuals, but the sport as a whole. With a union, fines and suspensions could not only be imposed, but mandated.

There are valid arguments on both sides regarding the formation of a union. However, the two primary reasons why I am in favor of a union have little to do with a fighter’s short-term finances. Those reasons are pension and health care. What is nice about a union is that a certain percentage of your pay goes into the pension plan. Much like the 9-to-5 workforce, many fighters are living paycheck -to-paycheck and put very little aside for the future. The difference is that at best, a fighter’s career is usually one-third to a half of the span of what a “normal” career is. This being the case, we need to be cognizant of our futures and save much more aggressively. There is nothing worse than putting 20 years’ worth of blood, sweat and tears into fighting and having nothing to show for it. There needs to be some type of way for fighters to automatically have pay deferred into a 401k, Roth IRA, SEPIRA or the like. I would propose that a fighters union have a board of financial planners in place to guide its members.

The second reason is health care. As fighters, we consistently push our bodies to the limits, and oftentimes that can result in injury. An injury in our sport can take a fighter out of the game and food out of his mouth if he does not have access to affordable health care. We do not have the luxury of being able to work with a broken arm or leg, nor can most fighters even afford to go to a doctor for a common training ailment such as ringworm or staph.

I have been approached by a number of people who support the idea of a union and what it would mean to the fighters, but who are afraid to speak out due to fear. Some of the baddest people I know lack the courage to stand up and speak out. But oftentimes in life, the toughest fight to win is the one within.

Should there be a way to protect the fighters? Should there be a way to show the critics of MMA that we are, in fact, professionals? Will there ever be a union? You tell me.

]]>https://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/all-for-one-570/feed/0Jose Aldohttps://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/jose-aldo-555/
https://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/jose-aldo-555/#commentsSun, 15 Nov 2009 00:00:00 +0000adminhttp://www.fightmagazine.comBrazil’s fight scene was the first victim. Shooto Brazil, Meca World Vale Tudo, and Jungle Fight were some of the promotions that hosted Jose Aldo’s malicious fight style. He started his professional fighting career just before turning 18-yearsold. The Nova Uniao fighter who trains with jiu-jitsu aces Thales Leities, Vitor “Shaolin” Ribeiro and Marlon Sandro, [...]

]]>Brazil’s fight scene was the first victim. Shooto Brazil, Meca World Vale Tudo, and Jungle Fight were some of the promotions that hosted Jose Aldo’s malicious fight style. He started his professional fighting career just before turning 18-yearsold. The Nova Uniao fighter who trains with jiu-jitsu aces Thales Leities, Vitor “Shaolin” Ribeiro and Marlon Sandro, has had an Anderson Silva-like approach since the beginning. He’s cool, sporting a swagger to conceal his Samurai sword skill set that cuts through the competition.

Despite being a four-time Brazilian jiu-jitsu champion, he’s only won via a submission hold once in 16 fights (15-1). The other submission on his ledger was due to strikes. Aldo stomped past Anderson Silverio and soccer kicked him en route to victory. Stomps and soccer kicks are illegal under WEC rules, but the former semiprofessional soccer player has been indomitably ferocious since storming stateside.

He debuted in the Octagon at WEC 34 in June 2008, against Shooto legend Alexandre Franca Nogueira. Innovative offense and aggression not only helped him avoid Nogueira’s famed guillotine, they also put Nogueira on the chopping block as Aldo axed him with punches. He’s been dissecting opponents ever since.

He proved he could sustain his pace by dragging his next opponent, Jonathan Brookins, into the third round and finishing him at WEC 36 last November. At WEC 38 two months later, Rolando Perez was the next to be overwhelmed. Aldo countered a body punch by lifting a knee, perfectly catching Perez and ending his night early. Aldo then stopped Chris Mickle at WEC 39 in March. But it’s the Brazilian’s last bout that placed him at his current peak.

One strike. Two strikes. Over. Cub Swanson was finished before Aldo got started at WEC 41 in June. The then 22-year-old, already considered one of the sport’s elite prospects in any weight class, launched a flying knee that connected directly on Swanson’s face. A great improviser, Aldo switched in mid-air and threw a second knee, landing cleanly on Swanson’s left eye. The pair of flying knees stopped Swanson in eight seconds and opened deep cuts above and below his left eye. (And the stoppage could have come sooner, too, as Swanson doubled over and suffered unnecessary punches.)

Mike Tyson is his hero, and if Aldo wants to continue to emulate him, he must dispose of 145-pound champion Mike Thomas Brown at WEC 44, in Las Vegas on Nov. 18. The win over Swanson earned him the title shot on the same night that Brown bested former featherweight king Urijah Faber. There is little doubt that Brown will be the roughest test of Aldo’s career. He will, however, be up for the challenge since his only two known aspirations are to be a champion and to buy a house — both come along with the win.

Whether Aldo will continue to be “Kid Dynamite” should be known once he’s tangled with Brown. After all, a fighter should be judged not by the content of his character, but by the wreckage he leaves behind.

]]>https://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/jose-aldo-555/feed/05 Minutes with John Fitchhttps://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/5-minutes-with-john-fitch-554/
https://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/5-minutes-with-john-fitch-554/#commentsSun, 15 Nov 2009 00:00:00 +0000adminhttp://www.fightmagazine.comFirst things first. How did this MMA thing come about for you? I wrestled grade school, middle school, high school, and in college. When I got to Purdue University I met Tom Erikson who was one of the coaches there. He had fought down in Brazil and in Pride and that was always interesting to [...]

I wrestled grade school, middle school, high school, and in college. When I got to Purdue University I met Tom Erikson who was one of the coaches there. He had fought down in Brazil and in Pride and that was always interesting to me. So towards the end of my senior year, I noticed that my desire to compete was still there. Fortunately, I chose fighting.

What would you be doing if you didn’t choose fighting?

I was looking hard into that Eco Challenge stuff. It was pretty big when I was in college. I remember thinking ‘man, us wrestlers could do something like this.’ I even went as far as to gather up some guys to start pursuing it further. But, I stuck with fighting.

That seems to have worked out well so far!

I can’t complain one bit.

Sounds like “fighter” is the only occupation you’ve ever had.

Yeah. I was lucky. I won a scholarship called the Red Mackey award from Purdue. They give it to three seniors every year. It gave me a free year of grad school at Purdue. I knew I didn’t want to start teaching, so I became a volunteer assistant coach for the wrestling team. It was during that year that I really decided to devote all my efforts to fighting. ed note: The Red Mackey scholarship is an award that honors a player voted most deserving by both the coaching staff and fellow team members. Recipients demonstrate positive attitude, outstanding competitive spirit, loyalty, honesty, generosity, tenacity, self-discipline, dedication, hard work for the best interest of the team and a willingness to help others.

What is it like training at American Kickboxing Academy (AKA)?

It’s fantastic man. We have such a strong stable of guys right now. It’s taken us a while, but we have some fighters here now. Not the guys that want to go to a bar and tell chicks that they’re a fighter. Real fighters. We’ve got some up and coming guys that push us to the limits daily. It’s just awesome.

Who is the toughest guy in the gym?

Well, if we all had to fight, it’d have to be Cain [Velasquez]!

Who can drink the most beer?

That’d have to be me. I don’t drink that much anymore, but I’m half Irish and I’ve got a little bit of Indian somewhere in there, so I can put ‘em down.

What do you do for fun when you’re not at AKA?

Video games. I’ve got a Playstation 3 and an Xbox. I’ve got a membership to Gamefly, which is like Netflix for video games. So I’ll get a game, beat it, send it back, and get a new game. It’s great.

You play the UFC game?

Yeah, but it’s hard man. I get frustrated when I play that game!

Do you play as Jon Fitch?

I have, but I created a little fat 155 pound guy as my main character.

What’s your game of choice right now?

I like Grand Theft Auto type games. Right now I’ve got a game called Prototype that is pretty cool. You should check it out.

What’s the last book you read?

It’s called Outliers: The Story of Success by Malcolm Gladwell. It talks about all the factors that go into making people successful that you never would have considered. It’s a super interesting book.

Tell us about the “Fitch Face” and where it came from.

Part of it was like working at bars and stuff in college – I was there to do my job, make money, and go home. I mean, I was training. But the people who were going to the bars don’t understand that. So, the drunken girls would ask me why I wasn’t smiling. Why don’t I smile? So, I’d give them the Fitch Face. Part of it came from that. The other part is just showing my teeth, trying to be intimidating.

What’s up with AKA and Matt Hughes?

It’s just we’ve all asked for a fight with him for a long time and nothing has ever materialized. He says he’s still in the mix for a title shot – well, so are we. So with three of us asking for the fight, we just can’t see how it hasn’t happened yet.

You, Swick and Koscheck. Three top ten welterweights in the same gym. How is that all going to play out?

We’re teammates first and foremost. I am where I am because of the people around me and the teammates that I have. One fight is not worth throwing away everything that we’ve built up. There’s no benefit to it right now. We know what it’s like to fight each other. We fight each other every day!

Where does Jon Fitch sit in the welterweight division?

I truly believe I’m number two behind GSP. I think I did better than anybody else has against him. I think I’ve proven myself and I’m just waiting for another shot right now.

]]>https://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/5-minutes-with-john-fitch-554/feed/0Ask Jakehttps://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/ask-jake-556/
https://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/ask-jake-556/#commentsSun, 15 Nov 2009 00:00:00 +0000adminhttp://www.fightmagazine.comJake Shields hasn’t lost since 2004. He’s earned twelve consecutive victories, defeating five champions over two weight classes in the process. The Cesar Gracie black belt hopes to add a fourth title to his mantle—it currently showcases his Shooto, Rumble on the Rock and EliteXC belts—when he battles for Strikeforce’s vacant middleweight title against Jason [...]

]]>Jake Shields hasn’t lost since 2004. He’s earned twelve consecutive victories, defeating five champions over two weight classes in the process.

The Cesar Gracie black belt hopes to add a fourth title to his mantle—it currently showcases his Shooto, Rumble on the Rock and EliteXC belts—when he battles for Strikeforce’s vacant middleweight title against Jason “Mayhem” Miller. If that’s not enough, he wants to fight UFC welterweight champion Georges St. Pierre. In between teaching his American Jiu-Jitsu brand at his school in Berkeley, California and fighting off local co-eds, Shields kindly answered FIGHT! reader mail questions – before returning to the co-eds.

I’ve been struggling with three bulging discs in my neck for about six months. You spend a lot of time on the mat, any advice for recovering from and avoiding neck injuries?

My back got jacked up for a while and I was out for a few months but it was one of those things you gotta keep trying to work through it and hopefully find a good chiropractor. What worked really well for me was some active release work, which is a mix between muscle and spine. That’s what finally got my back fixed.

James M. Elwood, Victoria Australia

I know your pretty slick on the ground, but what types of improvements are you making on your stand up?

Massively, you know. I’m doing more standup than jiu-jitsu – not neglecting my jiu-jitsu – but doing stand-up every single day, by doing kickboxing and boxing. I’m trying to improve all my weak spots.

Andrew R. Gatesville, NC

Hi, I was wondering what is your nutrition plan and what supplements do you take?

I’ve been trying to gain weight, so I’ve been taking a lot of supplements. I just found Champion Nutrition, which is by far the best supplements I’ve ever used. It definitely helps speed up my recovery and put on weight.

Seamus K. Burlington Ontario, Canada

What’s your most inspirational thing that keeps you fighting or picks you up when you’re down?

I just love what I’m doing, you know. I love to fight. I couldn’t be more thankful for what I’m doing. I have so many friends always bitching about going to work and I love my work. I love everything about it. Obviously, there’re days I don’t feel like going into the gym, but on the days I don’t feel like going to the gym, I think about my friends who work in an office and I’m thankful for the job I have.

Vinny R. Los Angelos, CA

What kind of schedule should I make learning Muay Thai and Jiu-Jistu and how many hours should I devote to on each of them? Thank you.

It depends on if you have a job or not. It’s good to spend several hours a day, but so often that’s not realistic. If you have a full job, you can split it three days a week in Jiu-Jitsu and three days a week in Muay Thai and try to make the best split in your schedule you can make. And make sure you don’t overlook conditioning. Running will help you improve both your Muay Thai and Jiu-Jtisu.

Nimz B. Waltnut Creek, CA

In your opinion, if you fought Georges St. Pierre, how do you think the fight would go down? And who comes out on top?

I think GSP is a great fighter. He’s one of the best pound for pound right now. I think it would be a total war but I truly feel like I can beat him. I have a lot of confidence in my skill. I’m on a big winning streak. Someday soon, that fight will become a reality.

Ben L Calgary Alberta, CA

Your new school is located right across the street from UC Berkeley, how do you stay focused with all the eye candy walking around you?

It’s definitely a good place to be training! But to me, training always comes first. However, it’s a great benefit to have all the girls running around!

Jasan F. Fremont, CA

How many times is it acceptable to ask a girl out before you should give up?

That’s a good question, I don’t know. Being a fighter, I usually don’t ask too many times [laughs]. I can’t give an answer. Let’s just say it depends on how bad you want the girl!

]]>https://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/ask-jake-556/feed/0A Fight Night For Heroeshttps://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/a-fight-night-for-heroes-558/
https://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/a-fight-night-for-heroes-558/#commentsSat, 14 Nov 2009 00:00:00 +0000Donovan Craighttp://www.fightmagazine.comIN THE BELLY OF THE WHALE The city of Mosul is in the Northern part of Iraq on the banks of the Tigris River. A sprawling city of nearly two million inhabitants, it has been here in one form or another for thousands of years. It is built on the ruins of the ancient city [...]

The city of Mosul is in the Northern part of Iraq on the banks of the Tigris River. A sprawling city of nearly two million inhabitants, it has been here in one form or another for thousands of years. It is built on the ruins of the ancient city of Nineveh where the prophet Jonah was traveling when swallowed alive by a “great fish” in the famous story from the Bible. It’s said he is buried in the city, beneath a shrine located in the Nabi Yunus Mosque.

I am ruminating on the Biblical prophet’s peculiar mode of transportation as I travel towards the city myself, in the belly of a different kind of giant beast. Thousands of feet above the Iraqi desert inside a C-130 military transport plane, I am traveling together with a large group: three fighters, two promoters, three judges, two referees, a corporate sponsor, a matchmaker, sanctioning official, two ring girls, a documentary film crew, FIGHT! Magazine’s own intrepid staff photographer Paul Thatcher and about a dozen soldiers who are going on deployment. We are all being ferried to forward operating base Marez on the outskirts of Mosul, which in a few days will be the site of a historic mixed martial arts event. The fight card has been a labor of love for many, including Monica Sanford, the owner of Devil Dog Productions. Monica is the wife of a Marine Lieutenant Colonel and a tireless advocate for greater acceptance of MMA by the military. She owns a Jiu-Jitsu academy off Camp Lejeune, NC, and has already promoted a couple of hugely successful events on U.S. military bases, but she’s never pulled off anything with the scope and complexity of what they’re planning at Marez. No one has. With her are fellow promoter Brett Moses and Andy Foster, head of the Georgia State Boxing Commission, who are here to help with the organization and production of the big night.

Traveling on the C-130 is a singularly unpleasant experience. There are no windows to speak of, the smell of fuel is overwhelming and the roar of the engines is so deafening that we are given tiny orange earplugs before takeoff in order to prevent permanent hearing damage. We are packed in like sardines alongside huge pallets of equipment and luggage and we’re required to wear 35-pound flak jackets and ill-fitting Kevlar helmets just in case anybody takes a pot shot at us. The scene is one of discomfort and claustrophobia.

Irrational thoughts begin to race through my mind, “Am I supposed to smell this much oil? Maybe there’s a leak! What if this thing catches fire mid-air? What if they land us in the 140-degree Iraqi heat and forget about us on the plane? Great God, we’ll bake alive in here!”

I have never liked confined spaces and even though I realize everything will probably be alright, I begin to sweat profusely in the beginning stages of animal panic. If I withstand this initial wave, I know it will go away for good, so I close my eyes and do my best to place my thoughts elsewhere.

When I open them after a few minutes, I notice that the expressions on the faces of my fellow travelers run the gamut from mild consternation to full-on psychological breakdown. There are anti freak-out kits behind us on the walls—green pouches containing vomit bags and hyperventilation units just in case somebody does lose it. I wonder how often this happens. Somehow, knowing the others are having a rough time too makes it easier on me and I even begin to laugh at myself a little.

The plane suddenly begins to lurch and weave erratically, sending me swerving from side to side in my seat. My ears pop as the plane dives and loses altitude quickly. My friend Nick Palmisciano, owner of Ranger Up and a sponsor of the event, is across from me sleeping like a baby. A graduate of West Point and a former Army Ranger, he warned me earlier about our landing, saying the C-130 pilots would put the plane through a series of acrobatic, downwardspiraling, pirouettes in order to make us a more difficult target to shoot down.

“Mosul’s hot right now,” he had said, using the military slang for an area with a large amount of enemy activity.

“Sweet,” I had commented, meaning just the opposite.

Mosul is in the most dangerous part of Iraq. After a brutal seven- year war, U.S. forces have driven the enemy out of the rest of the country and now the terrorists are fighting desperately not to be completely dislodged. It is here in Nineveh province and in and around the city of Mosul, that Al Qaeda is making its last stand in Iraq.

ALPHA COMPANY

Once we arrive on the base we are escorted to the billeting area. We are staying in the same hooches as a squad of soldiers from the Alpha Company 1-12th Cavalry, who are nice enough to show us around and explain that the strange looking structures in the central area between our hooches are fortifications designed to provide cover if the base comes under mortar or rocket attack. “Good information,” I think.

The entire group of six Alpha Company soldiers trains MMA and four of them will be fighting in the big event. The two others, SSgt. Stephen Laxamana and a stocky Kansan, SSgt. Patrick Miller, will be working their comrades’ corners. A lifelong wrestler and professional fighter with a record of 11-4, it was Miller who first introduced his men to the sport while training at Fort Hood, Texas.

“I was beating everybody when we’d roll as a part of our PT (physical training),” explains Miller. “So people started asking me to show them moves when we weren’t busy and those guys started beating up people and it just started a chain reaction.”

The soldiers are all huge fans of watching MMA, especially the UFC. They quiz me about some of the famous athletes I’ve met while covering the sport. There’s a lot of interest in anything having to do with Randy Couture, with Eddie Bravo coming in a close second.

They’ve seen a lot of combat and most of them are on their second or even third tour of duty. I ask them about their experiences in the war and how they think it’s going. No Oliver Stone bullshit here— they’re all glad they came to Iraq, and say proudly that they’ve been a part of something historic in a way most people will never know.

“Our job is to kill bad guys,” says Sgt. Coury Stevens. The other members of the team say Stevens is one bad MF, a deadly shot with tons of confirmed kills and cool as ice water under fire. The babyfaced Stevens also looks like he’s about 15 years old. “You train and train but you never get to do it unless you come over here,” he tells me matter-of-factly. A robust opinion, if not a politically correct one.

They all speak well of the mission in Iraq, but their opinion of some of the Iraqi nationals who they’re risking their lives to protect isn’t the best. They even joke about the well-known expertise of some of the Iraqi police in disassembling the complex booby traps which litter the country.

SSgt. Thomas Blair, an All-American looking Bostonian with a good sense of humor, mimics a policeman effortlessly plucking three or four wires out of a grenade in the correct sequence then holding it up to show it’s disarmed. “That’s ‘cause you used to make ‘em motherfucker!” he blurts out as the rest of the squad chuckles grimly. He’s referring to the fact that some of the Iraqi defense forces that now work with the U.S. were once fighting against them in the Sunni “resistance”. That’s before they were persuaded by the brutality of Al Qaeda against civilians to join forces with the Americans and kick the terrorists out of the country once and for all. The soldiers’ opinion of the Al Qaeda fighters is even lower and I get the sense that it does them good to blow off steam talking about them.

“Cowards,” spits Stevens. “They use women and children as shields.”

Reading reports of Al Qaeda fighters lining up children and marching behind them while firing over their heads at U.S. forces is bad enough, but having Stevens, someone who has seen it firsthand, tell me about it face-to-face makes it seem much worse.

“Worthless,” he continues, in the fine military tradition of talking down the enemy. “They know if they stand and fight, they’ll be killed.” He imitates the haul-ass-while-shooting-aimlessly-fromthe- hip technique the terrorists favor.

They all put on a hard face, but the more I get to know them the younger they seem. The young, male, working class demo that has always been the core of MMA’s fan base, is also the base of the armed forces. It’s natural that there should be a big crossover between the two. I have no frame of reference for most of what they’re telling me about the war, other than to be amazed that they go through so much so often, but we do have one thing in common. They’re just as interested in MMA as me so we bond by talking about training and the different matches we’ve seen. Stevens ex- plains to me that he is currently trying to learn the Rubber Guard that Eddie Bravo invented. “I read his books,” he says, producing one from his hooch to show me.

At night they all go up to one of the gyms on base and train together. Training and competing in MMA helps them deal with the drudgery and anxiety of their daily lives in the war zone. Blair points out that it also builds esprit de corps. He says there is a natural camaraderie between soldiers from being in combat, but that training together in an activity like mixed martial arts “increases it ten-fold.”

A HUGE ENDEAVOR

The base is buzzing about the upcoming event. Soldiers ask us about it when they see us in the chow hall and many thank us in advance for putting it on. It has been a colossal effort and Monica and many of the rest of the team have been busting their humps for almost a year to make this event happen. They’ve got to feel good because in the days leading up to the event, the energy is very positive and the soldiers are all supportive and appreciative.

“Thank you for coming over here and doing this for us,” a soldier says to me one day in the chow line. I want to answer “No—Thank You, for helping save the world from evil thugs.”

The day before the fight, we are escorted down to the outdoor ring and amphitheater, where the event will take place, for a runthrough. Monica and Nick chatter excitedly that “The Boss” is coming in to inspect the grounds. “The Boss” is the base commander, Colonel Gary Volesky.

“Volesky is the real deal.” Nick tells me. “They’ve written books about his battles.” Volesky, it turns out, was the commander of the main U.S. force in Sadr City, Iraq during one of the most hard-fought campaigns of the war back in 2004. That battle went a long way in pacifying the sprawling Baghdad slum and Colonel Volesky’s star has been very much on the rise ever since.

Soon he appears with his staff of soldiers in tow. He is a tall, thin man who always looks straight ahead and moves with quick, precise movements. He reminds me of an old grizzled hawk, always alert and aware of what’s happening out on the horizon. He looks intense but he seems nice enough, frequently peppering his speech with “awesome,” and “that’s great.” Although he’s obviously the man in charge, he makes everyone on our team feel comfortable, but I get the sense that he could change out of nice mode in a microsecond if anyone around him screwed up.

As base commander, Volesky is taking a risk by having an event of this magnitude and complexity on FOB Marez. It’s a big card with 14 amateur fights and three professional ones. So, besides the normal logistical challenges of hosting an event with that many matches and thousands of spectators, there are also the special security concerns of doing it in a war zone. Back in 2004, long before Volesky was commander of the base, a suicide bomber made his way past security and into the mess hall on Marez and blew himself up, killing 22 people, 18 of which were U.S. personnel. You don’t have to be a counter-terrorism expert to realize that what’s left of Al Qaeda in the country would love to pull something like that off at tomorrow night’s event with thousands of troops and half of the command structure of Northern Iraq in attendance.

To make sure everything runs smoothly, the Colonel goes through something he calls the Rock Drill, which is a rapid-fire series of very pointed questions concerning the specifics of the event. By the end of the tenminute process, he has broken the three-hour event into fifteen-minute increments and knows precisely what should be occurring during those increments and whose job it is to make sure those things happen. “What happens then,” he asks. “Whose job is that? What if this happens? What if that happens?” over and over again, while soldiers jump in with concise, accurate answers so as not to waste his time.

Once he is satisfied that every possible contingency that can be planned for has been, Volesky is off again in a cloud of dust with his staff trailing behind him. If he has anything to do with it, tomorrow night’s event will run with the precision of a Swiss watch. But as with everything in a war zone, there is always the unspoken potential for disaster.

A TREMENDOUS SUCCESS

The fight night has been built up for months and everyone involved is expecting a large crowd, but they end up getting almost three times as many as they expected. A massive crowd of soldiers is spread out across the hills behind the ring. Many have come in from other bases and some are standing on the hoods and roofs of their Humvees and on the ceilings of the surrounding concrete fortifications to get a better view.

Before the event officially begins, a list of the fallen soldiers from the base is read and then the national anthem is sung A cappella by everyone in attendance. The crescendo is timed right at the moment of a helicopter flyover to kick things off. The moment, with its thousands-strong military chorus, is another of Volesky’s innovations. Out of that huge sea of soldiers, I don’t think there are a dozen who can carry a tune, but we all pitch in and sing as loudly as we can, and in its own way, it’s a beautiful thing to experience.

The crowd is wildly enthusiastic and the different units all cheer and wave their flags whenever their members are competing. The two ring girls who came over with us, Starr and Lauren, are, of course, a huge hit with all the soldiers, as they strut around between rounds and go out into the crowd to pose for pictures.

The first fight of the night is won by Alpha Company’s SSgt. Blair— the kid from Boston—who grounds and pounds his way to a decision over his opponent. The squad’s ballsy Sgt. Miguel Lozonaris steps into the ring for the first time as a pro or amateur in an exhibition against a seasoned professional fighter named Andy Roberts, who has 19 wins. As you would expect, Roberts overwhelms Lozonaris, who fights like hell, but is eventually caught by a rear naked choke late in the first. Both fighter’s hands are raised at the end and the crowd applauds Lozonaris’s bravery.

Coury Stevens, the soldier who looks so young, loses a close decision but nearly pulls it off. The fight stays close, but Stevens’s opponent scores a few flashy takedowns that I think won him the fight.

When it’s mild-mannered medic Joshua Beecher’s turn, I grit my teeth, expecting him to get wasted, but he surprises me. He turns out to be a two-fisted terror and wins in the best slugfest of the night. The fight whips the crowd into frenzy and as the night progresses everyone gets more and more into it. They begin to shout advice to the fighters in the ring, some of it more technically helpful than the other. “Come on, Beecher. Beat that fool!” someone behind me shouts. “Get in there, Clark. Don’t give up!” another soldier exhorts in a later fight. My favorite is a man with a piercing screech of a shout who keeps screaming the same advice in every fight over and over—“HAMMERFIST! HAMMERFIST!”

Colonel Volesky and the rest of the brass, who are all sitting in a special ringside section, are really enjoying the matches, as well. They’re rooting the soldiers on, clapping, shouting and cheering. It’s cool to see so many bigwig officers letting loose. Anytime something dramatic happens in the action they all leap to their feet at the same time, their black Calvary hats bobbing up and down in unison.

Two of the fighters in the co-main event are active duty military who came over with us from the states. Navy Corpsman Mike Brown has kept to himself and has been keyed up since he got on the plane in Atlanta. A ball of nervous energy, he reminds me of the way Mike Tyson used to look in his pre-fight ceremonies, except Brown has been chomping at the bit for four days and not fifteen minutes. So, I’m worried he might burn himself out mentally before the fight even starts. Six seconds after the bell rings, his opponent is an unconscious lump in a corner of the ring. I guess Brown knew what he was doing. After his win he becomes the life of the party for the rest of the trip.

SSgt. John Walsh is a gritty Marine with ten years of service and the submission grappling coach at Camp Pendleton. He engages in a barnburner in the final fight against Capt. Jason Norwood. Walsh nearly catches Norwood in several submissions but the more explosive Army Officer, who has a professional record of 6-1, eventually gets it to the feet. Once up, they exchange punches and Walsh gets caught with one right on the button that he never sees coming. When the officer, Captain Norwood, is announced the victor over SSgt. Walsh, there is a loud chorus of boos from the enlisted men in the crowd. Norwood takes it with grain of salt.

By the end of the night, the whole place is buzzed. It has been a very special night. Before the crowd disperses, there’s a surprise ceremony to thank Monica and Brett and the rest of the group for coming over and helping out with the event.

Afterwards, I am approached by Colonel Volesky himself. “Well, what did you think?” he asks. “A tremendous success, Sir.” I reply. I’m as pumped up as everyone else about how well the show went. “A tremendous success. Congratulations!”

He is smiling ear-to-ear and he should be. The event couldn’t have gone over any better. The Colonel gambled on the sport of mixed martial arts and it paid off in a big way.

“A man like that,” I tell myself, as I watch Col. Volesky make his rounds congratulating the fighters and crew, “doesn’t rise to the position he’s in and not be able to see a freight train when it’s coming down the tracks.”

THE HEART OF THE MATTER

When we get back to our hooches, Alpha Company is in the process of gearing up. Miller, Laxamana, Lozonaris, Stevens, Blair and Beecher have beaten us back and are all collecting their equipment; helmets, radio packs and the oddly tall night vision sights that are attached awkwardly to their helmets. Their weapons are slung over their shoulders or across their chests, as they get ready to enter the MRAP troop transport vehicle, which is waiting to drive them to whatever trouble spot they’ve been dispatched. The squad’s senior leader, First Sergeant Daniels, a gnarly old badass with a trick eye, is sitting out on one of the benches talking about how his boys have done tonight. “These boys are the real shit,” he growls, glowing with pride.

The squad is psyched, even the ones who lost their matches seem energized by the experience. Incredibly, they’ve gotten a call to head back out on a mission within a few hours of competing. It brings home what these guys do and the reality of the danger they’re in every day. We all promise to keep in touch and I feel like I know them much better than I should after such a short time. It’s a surreal scene with them gearing up in the middle of the night. Lauren, Starr and even Monica cry and make a big fuss, but the soldiers take it in stride. I wonder whether or not they will all come back alright and the danger of the war suddenly seems very real and palpable. We all tell them goodbye and to come back safely.

As they pull out of the base, I try to process everything I’ve seen over the last few days and it’s sort of overwhelming. Soldiers, like the men I met in Alpha Company, are sent over here to do an insanely difficult thing. They risk their lives practically every day and, now that I’ve seen just a harmless little piece of it, when I try to wrap my head around this large, complex war, mixed martial arts doesn’t seem like such a big deal to me any more. But then I think about how relaxed the men were when we would talk about the sport, or about their favorite fighters. They seemed to forget about Iraq for a while when they’d tell me their ambitions for the sport, or about how they’re driven to train so hard just for the sake of getting good at something they love to do. It makes me reconsider. If by watching, training and competing in MMA the lives of the soldiers in Alpha Company are made better, if it makes it easier to do their jobs, or it gives them more hope about the future, or a better way to cope with the stresses of war, then mixed martial arts is extremely important— because they are extremely important. I’m sure that after seeing the reaction of all the soldiers attending and competing in this historic event at FOB Marez, Col. Volesky and the other leaders that were present will realize the same thing. For that reason, I hope that our experiences in Iraq and at the show, whose name, “A Fight Night For Heroes,” now seems so much more apt to me, might be the start of something really significant.

]]>https://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/a-fight-night-for-heroes-558/feed/0“Judge, Jury … Executive”https://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/judge-jury-executive-566/
https://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/judge-jury-executive-566/#commentsSat, 14 Nov 2009 00:00:00 +0000Danny Acostahttp://www.fightmagazine.com“NO, KILL IT,” HARRIS SAYS. The light turns off — killed. Harris sits under the chandelier house lights at Body English after the WEC 42 weigh-ins. He rests his right ankle over his left knee. His fine suit cuts no corners, and his full head of gray hair is youthfully combed back. It has been [...]

The light turns off — killed. Harris sits under the chandelier house lights at Body English after the WEC 42 weigh-ins. He rests his right ankle over his left knee. His fine suit cuts no corners, and his full head of gray hair is youthfully combed back. It has been nearly three years since Ultimate Fighting Championship’s parent company, Zuffa, purchased WEC and handed its co-founder, Harris, the tools to turn it from a respected regional promotion to an elite national promotion.

He explains that he was in the fight game before the UFC was the UFC, before it had the money to buy out his organization. WEC was notable for years because top UFC talent passed through WEC’s cage doors first. At WEC 1, Chuck Liddell was meant to fight, but the UFC came calling and Harris let him go. He always did.

“We knew the UFC was going to be the catalyst to build the sport of MMA and make it a household name.”

And it was. The WEC happened to come along with it. So here’s Harris now, retelling how he ended up under Vegas show lights: A former Taekwondo teacher who had hit a mat once or twice in his life, he was asked to judge a mixed martial arts fight and fell in love with it. Enough so to divide his attention from his successful real estate career and put a cage in the middle of a nowhere town like Lemoore, Calif., and draw national attention to it with nothing more than American ingenuity.

Growth spurts are often painful, though. Being adopted by Zuffa means meeting criticism head on. Is WEC minor league? Why don’t WEC fighters earn as much as their UFC counterparts? Are they crazy for entertaining the thought of moving their free product to pay-per-view? Harris likes to respond to criticism by politely waking them up with a jab first, asking how many of those critics were talking to him two years prior, writing about Urijah Faber and Miguel Torres or even watching WEC?

“I wouldn’t have expected to be where we’re at,” he admits. Even after the first Zuffa WEC show in January 2007, he didn’t foresee the immense growth of the WEC. Harris asserts that world-class talent, in their respective weight classes, respectable gates, and overall viewership, are why it is the second largest promotion in the world.

The goal is to create a sports organization — not a show. No one-off fights, no firebreathing dragons. “All fights have implications, and I think that’s what engages fans,” he says, comparing their business model to the NFL playoffs. “We’re proud of that.”

Pride in his accomplishments is at least one reason why Harris’ face tenses with disbelief when he talks about fighters and money. Calmly, with a tint of frustration, he responds with someone else’s words. Quinton “Rampage” Jackson said, “You pay me a million and I’m gonna want two.” He defers once again: “My wife certainly wants me to make more money.” And finally, rhetorically, “Who doesn’t want more money?”

Harris says he would love to pay his fighters more. There’s no question that they deserve as much as possible. That’s why the WEC plans to produce pay-per-views. A reality show is in the works, too. It is discussing different treatments to “do it right like The Ultimate Fighter” and ensure it’s a “great thing for the company.” He argues that the quality of WEC shows is akin to the UFC. In its nascent form, increased pay is only a logical step for the WEC, much like the payper- views that will allow it to happen.

“It’s funny because the same guys on the Internet that are yelling at me about not paying ’em enough say they wouldn’t pay for a pay-per-view,” Harris points out.

He appreciates fans watching, though, and understands that newspapers are in peril because people no longer want to pay for what they can get for free. The California native understands how to justify the move from Versus to premium pay: “We’re gonna have to have a card that’s completely deep with fights that people want to see and are willing to pay for.”

Harris reiterates that no one is paying bantamweights and featherweights like the WEC. Its contracts contain the same language as the largest sports league in America — the NFL. And more than deliberating from the bench, Harris plays jury, too, as a man among his peers.

“These guys are part of our team. They’re here for a reason,” he says, providing the formula for staying on the squad is to be successful and/or popular. “They’re here because we are fair.”

Although he wasn’t happy, his first reaction to lightweight Marcus Hicks weighing in three pounds over was concern for his safety, not anger. It’s a small reminder of Harris’ approach: professionalism above all else. That means consistency to meet expectations of delivering fast fights from high-level, well-prepared fighters.

As Body English turns back from weighin venue to nightclub, lights, backdrops and chairs are all taken away. The scale is gone. Ladders shift in and out. Pipes clank. None of it bothers Harris because the changes he’s worried about are the ones he sees for the future.

FIGHT NIGHT IS JUDGMENT DAY

If the WEC is still minor league, then its smoke and mirrors are better than Houdini’s.

When the Hard Rock Hotel & Casino renovated The Joint, it invited Harris and his WEC vice president, Peter Dropick, to add their input to the arena layout. The show’s producer called the shots during the Stanley Cup. Its production trucks for WEC 41’s classic Mike Thomas Brown decision over Urijah Faber were used for Super Bowl 43.

WEC 42 is their first event at the new Joint — Zuffa’s version of the organization started in this building. When Harris and Dropick gave me a tour two days prior to fight night, a No Doubt concert was being set up. In less than 24 hours, it was transformed into an impressive fight arena. With two large HD screens already in the arena, WEC brought two more. Everything must be better, high-end — UFC quality.

WEC 42’s start nears. Harris invites me into the cage to show me his pre-fight ritual. He pushes the mesh fence, checking its strength. He stomps around, ensuring the mat has its sponsor logos flat and nothing may perturb the fighter outside of the fighter across from him. He grabs the top of the blue Octagon that reads “Charles ‘Mask’ Lewis” to remind me of his fallen friend’s contributions in building the WEC like the UFC alike.

FIGHT! Magazine sits next to Harris for the first bout of WEC 42 — a featherweight scrap between Affliction transplants L.C. Davis and Javier Vasquez. It’s the first time Zuffa has extended that courtesy to any publication, and as I sit down during Vasquez’s entrance, Harris is nowhere to be found.

Harris takes his seat directly behind the blue corner shortly before the bout begins. “Meet and greets,” he explains. With the bantamweight title in a black velvet bag at his feet, he comments that Davis-Vasquez could be a main event in terms of competitive level (and it’s only the first fight of the night because it was a late addition).

Nearly a decade with the best seat in the house, it’s apparent that Harris believes in his product: He’s drinking a No Fear energy drink — the WEC’s official sponsor. He balances discussing the WEC with me, texting and taking in the fight live, on his television monitor and on the big screens. “I’m very quick … I’m like the Anderson Silva of cageside,” he says, noting he’s never been hit with blood. Blood on his suit is the least of his worries. Even with a quality scrap like Davis-Vasquez kicking off the card, WEC still fights off the perception that it’s a small-ball organization. It’s still finding its identity.

“I want to be a different company,” Harris says of his sister fight promotion, UFC. “I don’t want to be Dana [White].” When I prod what separates his vision from White’s, he says nothing. I press. He jokes the difference is “hair” and that he “swears less.” I ask again, because disagreeing with the boss is about as American as fight night in Las Vegas.

“I’m a different person,” he says. “And what he told me when we started this was, be yourself.” Harris elaborates that, for him, that means treating the world like he wants to be treated — fighters, sponsors and fans.

If White and Harris disagree, discussions take care of it. He offers up a quarrel — the WEC eliminating 170 pounds and above. Harris was against it. He didn’t want to give up stars like Carlos Condit or the ticket sales attached to him. White insisted it would better define the WEC brand. And Harris agrees — now. It kept 155 pounds because a WEC with only two weight classes wouldn’t be the best it could be. Harris may not fight with White, but he competes with his boss and the UFC because he wants to “find the next BJ Penn.”

Harris describes White’s ability to endure “short-term pain” for “long-term gain” and how beneficial that can be. Reminded of Lemoore, and hell, the early days in Las Vegas, Harris looks at the center of the Octagon and says, “It used to be the WEC logo. Now it’s the Bud Light logo.” Vasquez drops a close decision to Davis. It’s time for me to vacate my seat next to the WEC general manager. One more thing: How will Harris handle reaching the heights of WEC’s high trajectory?

“I train in jiu-jitsu, and I’m nice to my wife,” Harris says, adding that the show itself is a rewarding, motivating experience. “It’s like a fighter who trains, the hard work is actually done in the office. … I’d do 30 shows a year if they’d let me.”

The night builds slowly. Garcia kicks off the main card, winning for Harris like he did eight years prior, and Miguel Torres — one of the faces of the WEC — is stopped by Brian Bowles, the new WEC bantamweight champion.

Harris hands out $40,000 in disclosed bonuses, tells the media how proud he is of the fighters at the post-fight press conference, and takes off for Mexico City to continue growing the WEC with a press tour.

EXECUTIONER OR EXECUTIVE

Almost immediately following WEC 42, the WEC began swimming against the current. It postponed WEC 43; DirecTV dropped WEC’s distributor, Versus; and Dana White told the media at the UFC 102 pre-fight press conference that the featherweight and bantamweight divisions could move from WEC to UFC.

Harris won’t comment on the potential merger of his premier weight classes. However, he affirms that WEC will continue to rise regardless of what happens next. He recalls speaking to fans in Sacramento at WEC 41, an attendance and gate WEC record- setter, and that they had all attended the Sacramento show a year before. That’s the essence of WEC: Watch it once, and it’s hard not to do it again.

Harris details his trip to Mexico to cement the assertion that WEC is growing into its world-class gloves.

“The response was really positive,” he says. “They like the fact that we are focusing on the lighter weight classes. They like the fact that we have a lot of Hispanic fighters on our roster.” Despite people in Mexico still asking questions about the sport that have been answered in America, Harris is confident in the WEC’s expansion. The fights are already solid.

The stars simply align.

“The fighters, they can grow into [stardom],” Harris says, revealing he often doesn’t meet fighters before they fight, so he signs combatants only if they think they can contend for the title. Harris sees his fighters being international stars. He pronounces that Torres is “transcending in Canada” and was featured in the Daily Telegraph UK. The WEC’s success has come at an unlikely time.

“It’s the worst economy I’ve ever seen. I was in the ‘80s working,” the 53-year-old says. “And we’re still selling places out. Sacramento sold out. I see us branching out, especially when we go international. If we go to Mexico and Canada, I think the WEC is gonna blow up.”

Harris forgets his most recent show, WEC 42. It was his third largest show of all time, second biggest of the year, losing out to the record-breaking gates and attendance of WEC 41. Its success, he states, is incredible not only for a fighting promotion, but for a sporting league.

“I looked at a baseball stadium the other day. It was empty,” he says. The NFL blacking out games due to low ticket sales this season is another measuring stick the WEC employs. “They never used to have to do that. In Chicago, there was a fucking waiting list to get tickets for those games.”

Hearing Harris drop an f-bomb reminds me of sitting cageside. It was the only other time I heard the mild-mannered executive curse. A transformer overheated during an old Lemoore show, turning out the show’s lights. Harris jumped on the headset and “told the guy, if he didn’t fix the light, I was gonna go up there and personally kick his fucking ass.”

He didn’t have to kick his ass — the stern warning got the lights running. But he could. And that’s Harris’ charm. He could be perceived as judge, jury and executioner – but he chooses to be judge, jury and executive.

The tough decisions and the hard actions are necessary deliberations born from the desire to be elite.

Just like the UFC has its underdog story from blood sport to major league, Harris showcasing the lighter weight fighters bestows another underdog tag on the man who took his company from dusty Lemoore to dry Las Vegas. And he did it all by controlling the lights.

]]>The musky scents of sweat, menthol liniment, and leather hang heavy in the air at the famed Wild Card Boxing Club, in Hollywood, California. Roughly twodozen fighters of all shapes, sizes, and skill sets pound bags, jump rope, and shadowbox. Wild Card’s owner is the most famous trainer in the world, Freddie Roach, and when he moves around the gym everyone there—the twelve-year-old street kids with big dreams, the Golden Gloves champs, the ex-contenders who carry their arthritic hands and stutters like badges of honor—stops to kiss his ring and pay his respects.

Spectators sit in dented and paint-chipped folding chairs that line one wall of the gym. Most of these chairs are always occupied by the same coterie of older men, and today is no different. They’re hard-assed white guys in their fifties, with bad prison tattoos and swollen knuckles, who sit here as if it were their job and engage in the only activity left for men who hang out in a fighting gym but don’t lace up gloves anymore: They gossip like schoolgirls. In the land where Freddie Roach is king, these are his court jesters.

The clock strikes three and a man walks through the door in designer sunglasses, with a large bag of gear slung over his shoulder. Four men trail after him, keeping a re- spectful half-step behind: One carries a video camera, another is a photographer wielding a paparazzi-caliber lens, one is a conditioning coach, and the last man seems to be here simply because he has nothing else to do.

“You see him?” asks one of Wild Card’s court jesters.

“Yep,” responds another.

“I knew him back in the day. That kid used to have heart.”

“What happened?”

“What do you think happened? He got famous. It went to his head.”

The other fighters in the gym stop what they’re doing to catch a glimpse of this man. Some of the younger guys walk over and size him up. He smiles and bumps fists when they’re offered. He wraps his own hands, slips on 16-ounce gloves, and steps into the ring. He bounces lightly on his feet, graceful for someone who is six feet two and weighs, at this moment, probably a solid 225 pounds.

“Like ten years ago, he asked me to manage him,” says one of the court jesters. “I said ‘no’.”

“Why?”

“I never thought he had a chin.” Several moments pass as this declaration sets in. The other court jesters roll their eyes and laugh.

“You’re either a liar or the dumbest white man alive.”

King Freddie grabs his custom-made focus mitts and makes his way to the ring. The court jesters clam up when he walks past. The bell rings, signaling the start of the round, and Freddie begins working out with a man who is the current topic of conversation and his newest student. First jabs, then jab-cross combos. Hooks and slips come next. Leather snaps against leather. Freddie gives corrections in his soft, Parkinson’s inflected voice, barely a whisper. Three minutes go by fast. The bell chimes. Everyone in the gym grabs his sixty seconds of rest, except for Freddie and his disciple in the ring. They’re working five-minute rounds. Leather snaps against leather.

There are now three photographers circling the ring, documenting the training session from every angle imaginable. A visitor to the gym sidles up to one of them, a young woman in a dress.

“What do you think of him?” he asks her.

“Freddie?” she responds, still peering through her lens, clicking away. “He’s great. He lets me come in here and take pictures whenever I want.”

“Not Freddie. The guy Freddie’s training right now.”

“Him? He’s an actor, right? I think I saw him on one of those reality shows.”

“Actually, he’s a fighter,” says the visitor.

“Really? Is he any good?”

“He’s one of the best light heavyweights to ever fight in the UFC.”

“Huh. But he’s been on TV, right?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Well, at least I knew he was an actor.”

Freddie holds for hook-cross-hook combos off a bob-and-weave. He never stops whispering. Leather snaps against leather. His student drips in sweat. His feet dance just a few beats more slowly now, more heavily, as if he were relearning the steps all over again. The five-minute round ticks away. The bell rings, finally signaling a break in the action.

Tito Ortiz walks over to his corner and pukes into a bucket. Freddie Roach just smiles to himself.

Tito sips from a water bottle and rolls out his neck. The bell rings. Time in. “The Huntington Beach Bad Boy” trains his eyes on Freddie’s mitts and moves towards him, bringing his hands back up to his chin.

“I liked him on that reality show with Donald Trump,” says the photographer.

“Sure. Tito’s got a lot of personality.”

“He still fights?”

“Yeah. That’s why he’s here with Freddie. He’s getting ready for his first fight in a year and a half.”

“He’s rich and famous. Why bother?” she asks.

The visitor looks at her for a long moment and shrugs. “I guess you’d have to ask him.”

Tito Ortiz lives in a huge house on the water in Huntington Beach, with a Bentley, an Escalade, and a Benz in the driveway. Anchored at the dock is a large, sleek boat with a Punishment Athletics logo affixed to the hull. He lives in board shorts, and when the sun is out—which is every day in these parts—he rubs lotion on the shoulders of his girlfriend, the retired adult film actress Jenna Jameson. He dotes on their newborn twin sons, Jesse and Journey. He’s the most recognizable person in town, a bona fide celebrity who doesn’t wait in lines or pay for meals.

These trappings of luxury are a long way from his victorious debut against Wes Albritton at UFC 13, in 1997. Back then, Tito was a wrestler at Golden West College and a training partner of Tank Abbott’s. “I watched Jerry Bolander compete in the UFC,” he explains.“I wrestled him in high school and I beat him, so when I saw him winning in MMA, I knew I had to try it. But I wanted to keep my amateur athlete status so I could keep competing in college and maintain my scholarship, which meant I couldn’t accept any prize money. I literally fought for free.” He entered the Octagon that night in Georgia, and it was the last time nobody in the crowd would know his name.

Tito Ortiz was the heavy underdog. “I didn’t know what to expect,” he remembers. “I knew Wes was a black belt in karate and a kickboxer, and that’s it. I was really scared. To this day, I’m afraid in all my fights. I’m human, no different than anybody else in that way.” Tito won by TKO stoppage at thirty-one seconds into the first round. Due to his amateur status, he passed up the $15,000 purse, went back to his hotel with his cornermen, and promptly charged a $5,000 tab for drinks to Frank Shamrock’s room. The legend of the “Huntington Beach Bad Boy” was born.

After twenty-one fights, a UFC Light Heavyweight championship, a memorable stint as a coach on The Ultimate Fighter, and a few record-setting performances on pay-per-view, to say that his life got complicated would be a gross understatement. Since losing the final fight on his UFC contract to Lyoto Machida back in May 2008, Tito tirelessly played up his free agent status in the media, hurling barbs at his former manager-turned-nemesis Dana White and teasing MMA fans with so many “huge announcements” that never came to fruition they verged on parody.

At one point or another, Tito was close to signing a deal with literally every fight promotion that had a logo, cage, or ring. For a few weeks, he was going to start his own organization to rival the UFC. He took business lessons from Donald Trump on national television. He impregnated the most famous porn star of all time. When Josh Barnett tested positive for steroids and had to pull out of his fight with Fedor Emelianenko, for a good two or three hours (an eternity in the MMA blogosphere) Tito Ortiz was rumored to be the leading candidate to replace him. As he had throughout his entire twelve-year career, Tito played the media perfectly. And then there was the rumor of retirement. It made sense. He was a multimillionaire. Critics started calling his relentless ground-and-pound style archaic and boring. He had celebrated his thirty-fourth birthday.

“Yeah, I thought about it,” says Tito as he sits on the deck of his home, watching his boat glimmer in the Southern California sun. His self-imposed sabbatical from fighting has done nothing to affect his charisma or wipe from his face that self-satisfied grin of the cat who ate the canary. During his time away, he kept up with his friends in the UFC. He saw old adversaries like Chuck Liddell and Wanderlei Silva suffer the indignities of aging in a violent sport. He pauses for a moment to think about seeing them brutally knocked out in the cage. The grin fades away.

“That’s not going to happen to me,” he promises. “We’re different creatures, totally different human beings. I look at the big picture. I was hanging out with Chuck at UFC 100, and he’s not he same guy, man. Not at all. He’s taken some serious damage. Look at Wanderlei’s fights. He’s taken serious damage. These guys, they let their hearts take over too much. They just don’t care. I know the fans love to see guys go toe-to-toe and try to kill each other. But the fans don’t see us afterwards. They don’t see the stitches and the cuts and the bruises and the concussions. All they care about is watching an awesome fight.”

The sun shifts, illuminating Tito’s face and his famously large cranium with its close-cropped dyed blond hair. His knuckles and hands look like those of a warrior. But despite the twenty-two fights under his belt, his face does not. He gazes over at Jenna, who is sunning herself near the water in a bikini. She looks over her shoulder at him and smiles.

“I’ve been hit ten, maybe fifteen times in my career,” says Tito. “There was Liddell, Couture, and Wanderlei. Machida got me once. Rashad got me a couple times. But I haven’t taken any serious damage because I move and I block and I defend myself. I fight a smart fight. When Chuck and Wanderlei fought, those two guys went out and really tried to kill each other. They went toe-to-toe and it was a great fight, but I’d love to have an intelligent conversation with somebody without stuttering or slurring my words. Believe me, when the time comes for me to retire, I’ll know it.”

Jenna walks over with one of their twin sons, Journey. The baby is beautiful. Jenna’s signature blonde mane from her film days has been replaced by brown hair. She’s the skin-flick starlet who grew up to be the beautiful girl next door. Over her shoulder, through the doors that lead into their living room, an entire wall is occupied by a black-and-white professionally shot photograph of the couple. It’s a more intimate portrait of the same image that millions of people have seen on television and in magazines: Tito with Jenna at his side, their best angles facing the camera, their teeth impossibly white and their smiles inscrutable.

Tito holds Journey in his arms and coos. As with everything else in Tito’s world, it’s tough to tell where the public persona ends and the actual man begins. And then Jenna senses the moment is over. She smiles a goodbye and takes Journey back inside the house.

“She asked me out on MySpace,” he says, watching her leave. “She knew what she wanted and she got it. When I was single, it was really hard to find a girl to hang out with and talk on any level. Dude, there’s a lot of hot chicks out there, but once they open their mouths it’s like ‘oh man, shut up please.’ Jenna’s mother died when she was three. Her father wasn’t there for her. She had to take care of herself. Well, I’m the same damned person and that’s why we work so well. We’re exactly the same person.”

When Tito was six years old, his father went through surgery to repair a hernia and got hooked on morphine. He graduated from morphine to heroin, and soon both he and Tito’s mother became junkies. They went bankrupt. They lived in cars on the streets of Santa Ana. Tito started stealing food to eat.

“It was hell,” he remembers. “I can say it. It’s what made me who I am today.” Shortly before his fight against Lyoto Machida, Tito went to visit his father for the first time in years. He was plagued by nightmares about his childhood. Thinking about his father hurt. He needed clarity and closure, so he went back to Santa Ana to see the man who tried—and failed—to raise him.

“I sat there with him and I cried,” says Tito. “I tried to express my feelings, and he just had this blank look on his face. I was just looking for an apology and I didn’t get it…” His voice trails off. He stares at the waves off his dock and takes a breath before resuming. “He could’ve said he was sorry and that he didn’t know any better. He could’ve said he was sorry for putting me through things like he did, but there was no apology at all.” He forces out a smile, this one half-hearted at best. “But it’s fine.”

Does your father watch your fights?

“Yeah, of course he does.”

Is he proud of you?

“I imagine he’s very proud of me.”

You imagine? Did he ever actually tell you that?

Tito Ortiz swallows hard. It makes the barely perceptible quiver in his lip disappear. “No,” he says softly. “Not ever. Maybe he didn’t understand how to be a father. Maybe he didn’t know how to be supportive or… Or maybe he was just too fucking stupid to realize it.” He turns and looks back at the doors to his home, where Jenna has taken one of his newborn sons just minutes ago. “People will always tell you they love someone, you know: ‘I love my chick so much, I’d do anything for her.’ Bullshit. That’s bullshit. Have a kid and you’ll understand love, because there’s nothing in the world like it. I never understood why my parents did what they did to me at such a young age, and let me see the things I saw and go through the shit that I went through. I could never do that to my sons.”

Shortly after that return to Santa Ana to see his father, he had the Machida bout and was faced with the end of his contract. No renewal had been signed, and there was no agreement on the horizon. For the first time in his career, Tito found himself buried at the bottom of a UFC card against a defensive counter-striker that management handpicked to make him look bad on his way out of the organization. It was Tito’s twenty-second fight, and he had gone from fighting for free to earning a healthy six figures just to show up. But his mind wasn’t in the game. He was thinking about the three children he supports (other than his twins, Jesse and Journey, he has a seven-year-old son named Jacob from a previous marriage). He was thinking about what it would be like to let them down. The thought of it scared him.

There was also a well-publicized feud with the UFC’s self-styled father figure, Dana White. “Dana and I used to be so close,” Tito remembers. “Years ago, he wanted to be my manager. He came to Huntington Beach knocking on my door, and he said: ‘Just give me a chance. I’ll fight for everything you’ve ever wanted and I’ll get you everything you’ve ever wanted if you just give me that chance.’ Dana fought to get me pay-per-view dollars, and everything was going awesome. Then he became president of the UFC, and when I started asking for the things he was asking for, he wouldn’t give them to me. And it got very personal. I went into survival mode.” Tito looks down at the worn, cracked skin on hands for a long moment. “Look, I have nothing to fall back on, no brothers, no parents. It’s just me. Prior to that fight, it felt like everybody was against me. All the UFC guys, Dana, my fans. Somehow things had just gotten crazy.”

He’d wake up at night in a cold sweat, telling himself that he’d never turn into his father. Unlike him, Tito Ortiz was going to keep on fighting, no matter what.

Lyoto Machida out-pointed him and won on the judges’ scorecards, but Tito came close to submitting “The Dragon” with a triangle choke that transitioned into an arm bar in the final round. It wasn’t enough to win, but it was enough to prove a point to himself: Despite the whole deck being stacked against him, Tito Ortiz still didn’t quit.

“I’ve got to give it to Machida,” he says. “He fought a smart fight. He fought tactically and with elusiveness, which I like to call being a pussy and running away, but that’s fine. He’s the champ now, so I guess I lost to the champ. But you know what? I stood up for what I believed in, walked away from Dana White and the UFC for a year, waited for them to come to me. And they did. I had a lot of hurt feelings for a while. When I lost my world title and the UFC didn’t invite me to the ten-year anniversary, I was hurt by it. I helped them get to where they are right now, and to slap me in the face like that, it was heart-wrenching.”

And then, after months of negotiations, the UFC came back to him. He sat in his office and watched as the fax machine printed out his contract. Things came full circle. The contract said something that no one else ever did, something that meant more than money, which Tito Ortiz had already. It meant that someone was proud of him and he wasn’t afraid to say it out loud.

“I signed that deal and I kind of got a little tear in my eye,” he says. “Because I did it. On my terms, the way I wanted it, bigger and better than I ever imagined. I won. I stood up to a billion-dollar company and I won. I’ve got so much respect for Dana and Lorenzo and Frank Fertitta because they’re going out of their pocket to take care of us fighters. In ten years, I’ll still be a part of the UFC, maybe not fighting but doing something. Dana said it himself: ‘You’ll always be a part of our family.’” Tito exhales as if a huge weight had been lifted from his broad shoulders. “You know what? That’s all I ever wanted to hear.”

Finally, he’s heard it. By his own admission, Tito Ortiz has gotten everything he ever wanted and more. It’s the kind of thing that makes for a happy man, but not necessarily a hungry fighter. In fact, he only admits he’s a fighter when pressed to do so. “I’m an average person who works really hard,” you’ll hear him say. Or: “Yeah, I do mixed martial arts, but I also own a clothing company, Punishment Athletics.” And: “I’m actually a businessman.” Everyone has his number: the number of dollars he needs to make before he can feel satisfied, and walk away from the rigors of his career to retire fat and happy. Tito Ortiz is no different.

“Sure, I wish I was a billionaire so I could just fight for fun, but I’m not.”

But what if he were?

He pauses to think about it, the gears in his mind turning, considering this question longer than any other, perhaps because he can imagine reaching his number someday, until finally… “Sure. Why not? I’d fight once a year and fight the best. Going into that cage and feeling the intensity and the energy in the air, there’s nothing like it. Money can’t buy that feeling. There are plenty of billionaires out there who’d give anything to be in my shoes on those nights, but that’ll never happen for them.”

If his children, his woman, and the Bentley in his driveway have made the Huntington Beach Bad Boy soft, Tito won’t admit it. The mere suggestion causes him to unleash a list of men he wants to see in the Octagon. Rashad Evans (“I have a draw with him, and it was so frustrating.”). Forrest Griffin (“I beat him on a split decision, but everyone thought I lost to him, so I need to crush him and shut him up.”). Lyoto Machida (“Next time he ain’t going to get away so quick, last time he barely survived and he gassed.”). Even Renato “Babalu” Sobral (“He’s with Strikeforce, but he’s talked a lot of smack, and I would love to slap the shit out of him, so maybe the UFC will go get him for me.”).

For the first time since his bout against Randy Couture in 2003, Tito Ortiz will enter the cage completely healthy, now that the back problems that have plagued him have fully healed. As an elder statesman in MMA, he is acutely aware of the advantages given to fighters by performanceenhancing drugs, but he takes a strong stand against them. “I’m an alpha male,” he says, “my body type is athletic. I’m very genetically gifted, and I’ve been training since I was a freshman in high school. Guys who do steroids are looking for the easy way out; they want to recover more quickly. My recovery is to sit in an ice bath, and it sucks. I really hope that my opponents use steroids because it means they’re mentally and emotionally weak. I’ll press them like I did Vitor Belfort. I broke him because he was built up to a certain point and his heart couldn’t recover quickly enough, so he gassed out. I remember back in the day when Mark Coleman was huge as an ox and he got kicked in the face by Pete Williams and gassed out. He looked for the easy way to get strong and look good on TV, and that’s not what it’s about. Nothing will ever beat hard work.”

Back at the Wild Card Boxing Club, Tito is pushing through the last of ten rounds in the ring. Leather snaps against leather. He breathes heavily. His feet and hands have slowed but his eyes are still focused on King Freddie.

“Ten seconds!” shouts one of the guys in Tito’s corner.

And, in the blink of an eye, Tito Ortiz changes levels, goes low, and shoots in for a world-class double-leg takedown, locking Freddie Roach in his steel grip, lifting him up and then gently setting his trainer down. Freddie just laughs, nonplussed. Tito grins to himself. He’s still got it the chops. The bell rings, signaling the end of the round and the completion of the workout. Tito leans against his corner in the ring and lets the sweat pour off him, catching his breath. The court jesters of Wild Card are still lounging in their chairs against the far wall, still offering their analyses to anyone within earshot.

“There’s always haters, but they never come up and talk shit,” Tito says. “They’re always the ones hiding behind their buddies or the ones standing a hundred feet away. But it’s cool if guys want to talk shit on me. You can say I’m a pussy. You can say I never fought anybody tough. You can say I’m too old, or I’m past my prime, or that I’ve gotten soft.” He turns and walks away. “But just wait. You’ll see.”

He pulls off his gloves. He starts tearing away the tape and gauze from his knuckles. He walks past the crowd that has gathered to watch him train and, maybe out of just one ear, he listens for someone to say something, anything. But the elder court jesters of Wild Card Boxing Club just look down at the floor, silent.

]]>https://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/the-prodigal-son-returns-565/feed/0Arianny Celestehttps://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/arianny-celeste-557/
https://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/arianny-celeste-557/#commentsSat, 14 Nov 2009 00:00:00 +0000adminhttp://www.fightmagazine.comSo what’s up? We haven’t talked in a long time, what have you been up to for the past year and a half? I’ve just been doing a lot of auditions and castings, and a lot of commercial print stuff. But the UFC keeps me pretty busy traveling a lot. You’ve been with the UFC [...]

]]>So what’s up? We haven’t talked in a long time, what have you been up to for the past year and a half?

I’ve just been doing a lot of auditions and castings, and a lot of commercial print stuff. But the UFC keeps me pretty busy traveling a lot.

You’ve been with the UFC for awhile. How is it being the senior ring girl of the bunch now?

I started with The UFC really young. My 2nd show was right around by 21st birthday. I went out with Joe Rogan, Eddie Bravo and Ali Sonoma. Let’s just say it was a memorable night. It was only my 2nd time ever drinking and Ali had to tuck me in that night. It’s been a roller coaster ride ever since. I’ve learned so much and had the best times in my life. I’ve seen Zuffa and Dana White take it to the next level. I’m really proud of them and I’m proud to be a part of the company. Natasha and Logan are really cool. I’ve been showing them the ropes. We have a ton of fun when we go out!

What’s that like for you now? Certainly you get recognized when you’re out.

I do sometimes, and I love talking to fans, unless they’re a little stalker-ish. It’s very flattering, but it’s also a little weird. I mean, I’m not a celebrity at all, only in the MMA world. It’s a great feeling knowing the fans appreciate seeing me though, even thru my transition from girl to woman. But it’s an awesome job, I’m very lucky.

When we’ve seen you out, you have seemed a bit reserved.

Yeah, I definitely am. It just takes a bit for me to open up to people, but once I do, I am a total goofball. Embarrassingly so.

Any goofball moments lately?

Well, I invented the hillbilly shuffle for my roommate, haha!

Sounds like a winner.

It’s like the Chippendale dance where you just use your pelvic muscles, with your arms down low, but you put a hillybilly country twist on it. I’m not sure if you can imagine that, but it’s kinda goofy.

You don’t say.

It only comes out sporadically and at random, weird places… like the Beverly Hills Hotel. Hahaha.

We’ll be looking to capture that on spy cam sometime soon.

Yeah, maybe one day… I dunno if you’ll catch me doing that one though.

Oh, we’ll get it. Paul will be on assignment, hiding in the hotel planter.

He would totally do that wouldn’t he?

He’s like a British ninja. How was the shoot by the way?

It was so good. It was a long day, but fun.

Not that you didn’t look great before, but you are looking more athletic now.

Thanks! I’ve always been really active. I was a gymnast and a cheerleader. I’ve been working out with my trainer, Ashley Borden, who has taught me some cool things. I’ve worked out my whole life and never seen results like the ones I have seen with her. My major in college was fitness management and nutrition and I am hoping to take some time to get certified because I’d like to help people the way she has helped me.

What does she specialize in that makes her training so different?

She just knows how to incorporate a lot of variety. The workouts are usually full body, high intensity and they’re always different. She’s also really big on recovery so making full use of foam rollers and flexibility is a big part of it too.

Well, it has certainly worked, you look like you are ready to kick some ass now.

Haha… you know it!

Speaking of which, I saw some videos on you doing some kick boxing, not bad.

Yeah, I’ve been trying to improve because some people had been giving me some shit for looking like such a girly girl on the Couture video I did awhile back. I just wanted to show that I have progressed a little. I’m certainly not a fighter but it’s fun. I love to mix it up and keep it fresh.

So you’re living in LA now right?

Yeah, we just had a 90 degree day and it’s supposed to be fall! I can hardly even breathe when I go to Vegas now, and I was born there.

What’s a typical day like for you there?

It’s pretty sweet. It’s relaxing and peaceful. It’s like I’m on vacation! I can go to the beach, I can go the local shops and restaurants, and the people are a lot more health conscious and it’s just really cool. There’s just so much more to do here than in Vegas. I really enjoy the outdoor stuff.

Where are some of your favorite places?

There’s this place called The Little Red Door that has great food. That’s one of my favorite spots. The only thing that sucks is the traffic. It’s awful. Sometimes I’d rather just stay home and watch a movie.

Are you a movie person?

Yeah, I love going to the movies and renting movies.

What’s on your list lately.

Oh definitely the The Hangover and of course, I love The Notebook.

I mean seriously. Does that surprise us? Not really.

I love Anchor Man too.

Will Ferrell fan eh?

Yeah, he’s pretty out there. 40 Year Old Virgin was great too.

I’m partial to Wedding Crashers myself.

Oh I love Wedding Crashers. Those are all must haves for those days when you just need to wind down and have a laugh.

What do you look for in a guy? Humor, I’m guessing?

Definitely. Funny, smart. He doesn’t have to be super good looking or be in super good shape, but he does have to have good teeth. (Laughing) He’s got to be able to hang with me at the gym and go to the movies and stuff though.

Where is someplace you would typically meet someone?

I’m not really sure. Right now I am focused on work, and if the right man comes along that can handle me, then I am blessed. If not, then I’ll just keep waiting. I’ll probably meet him at Whole Foods!

Perfect! We shop at whole foods fairly often so we’ll be on the lookout. Thanks for the time Arianny.

]]>https://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/arianny-celeste-557/feed/0New Bloodhttps://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/new-blood-19-564/
https://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/new-blood-19-564/#commentsFri, 13 Nov 2009 00:00:00 +0000Ricardo Mendozahttp://www.fightmagazine.comMixed martial arts is the fastest growing sport in the world. It garners more attention and new fans daily. The emergence of so many new athletes sometimes makes it hard for fans to notice some of the fighters on the verge of making it to the next level. MMAWeekly.com takes you deep inside the sport [...]

]]>Mixed martial arts is the fastest growing sport in the world. It garners more attention and new fans daily. The emergence of so many new athletes sometimes makes it hard for fans to notice some of the fighters on the verge of making it to the next level. MMAWeekly.com takes you deep inside the sport and presents you with some of the upcoming New Blood.

Todd Duffee

Originally getting his start in mixed martial arts by training at the Hardcore Gym with Adam and Rory Singer, Todd Duffee has become one of the UFC’s most touted Heavyweight prospects in recent memory. A physical specimen, he stands 6 feet 3 inches tall and weighs in at a huge 250 pounds, with most of that being pure muscle. Now training at Xtreme Couture, Duffee made an instant impact in his much-awaited UFC debut. He now looks to move quickly through the ranks of the Heavyweight division, as he has already stated that he wants to fight the best that the division has to offer him.

Duffee started his career with three straight first-round stoppage victories, which earned him a chance to face off with UFC veteran Assuerio Silva in Jungle Fight. In a sloppy fight, Duffee withstood Silva’s striking ability in the torrid affair and stopped him with strikes in the second round to keep his streak of stoppages alive. After almost a year away from fighting, Duffee finally got his chance to make his much-anticipated Octagon debut at UFC 102.

He squared off with Canadian Heavyweight Tim Hague, who was coming off a successful debut with the promotion at UFC 98. He submitted the highly touted Pat Barry with a guillotine choke. Duffee wasted no time quickly landing a jab that put Hague on his back and followed it up with some strikes, most notably a devastating left hand that put Hague out cold. Not only did Duffee make a successful UFC debut, but he also became a record holder. Finishing Hague in 7 seconds earned Duffee the fastest knockout in UFC history. Immediately after the fight, Duffee made it clear that he was ready for more competition, going up to the camera and saying, “That was an appetizer. I want to eat now, Dana. Let me eat!”

Although the UFC usually builds up its touted prospects slowly, Duffee has let it be known that he wants to fight the best in the UFC Heavyweight division. He will have a quick turnaround, returning to action at UFC 107, where he will be looking to open even more eyes as he climbs through the ranks of the UFC Heavyweight division.

Anthony Pettis

Fighting out of the Midwest, Anthony Pettis is much different from your typical Midwest fighter who typically has a strong wrestling background. He has a dynamic striking ability and slick submission skills. Most mixed martial arts observers knew little about Pettis until he was slated to make his promotional debut at WEC 41 in June against Mike Campbell. Pettis slowly built his name as one of the premier Lightweights on the Midwest scene, going undefeated at 6-0 and becoming the Gladiators Fighting Lightweight champion … all within a 2-year span. He also had a solid camp behind him, training with Duke Roufus, Pat Barry, Alan Belcher, and Eric Schafer.

Pettis started the fight off with a bang, landing a flush head kick that forced Campbell to go for a takedown after being stunned. Pettis was quick to adjust, locking on a guillotine choke before transitioning to a slick armbar that looked to be fully locked on, but somehow Campbell escaped. Pettis didn’t sit idle for long, though, locking on a triangle choke that had Campbell tapping out shortly thereafter.

Not only did Pettis win his WEC debut, but the Lightweight prospect garnered more fans from the fight making it to the televised broadcast. After performing impressively, Pettis soon gained a huge buzz as one of the top Lightweight prospects to look out for in all of mixed martial arts. Not only has fighting become a career for Pettis, but after a tragic accident, it has become a mission for the young 22-year-old to be crowned a champion. Being involved in martial arts since the age of 5, Pettis was pushed to train hard by his father and attributes that to his success. Unfortunately, Pettis’ father was killed in a home robbery in November 2003. Since then, it has been Pettis’ goal to become a professional fighter to honor his father. With that motivation behind him, he has emerged as a force in the WEC.

Pettis will next face the toughest test of his career in former WEC Lightweight champion “Razor” Rob McCullough at WEC 44 in November. A win over McCullough could put Pettis on the fast track to a possible shot at the WEC Lightweight championship sometime next year. However things pan out, one thing is certain: It’s now “Showtime” in World Extreme Cagefighting.

Aaron Simpson

Coming out of the vaunted Arizona State University wrestling program, Aaron Simpson is another top-flight prospect that has made the successful transition from collegiate wrestling to mixed martial arts. He now trains out of Arizona Combat Sports with the Lally brothers and an impressive camp of fighters that includes Ryan Bader, Jamie Varner, and C.B. Dollaway. Simpson didn’t dive into mixed martial arts without a base. He started his new career with a solid background in wrestling, being a former two-time NCAA All-American wrestler.

Simpson entered mixed martial arts after seeing the success of some of his former wrestlers at ASU, like Cain Velasquez, Bader, and Dollaway. He got a late start at the age of 33, but he hasn’t looked back since, impressively going undefeated and stopping all of his opponents with strikes.

His first big chance came in November 2008, when he made his WEC debut as a late replacement. He took full advantage of the opportunity, quickly knocking out touted grappler David Avellan. Although he didn’t know it at the time, Simpson soon found himself in the UFC as a select number of Middleweights and Light-Heavyweights were transferred over from the WEC when Zuffa eliminated the two divisions from the WEC in early 2009.

Simpson made his UFC debut against a fellow WEC transfer in Tim McKenzie at UFC Fight Night 18. Simpson wasted no time. He was all over McKenzie, rocking the longtime veteran from the onset and not letting up on his attack. He kept the pressure on McKenzie and finished him with strikes a little less than 2 minutes into the opening round. It wasn’t until the end of the summer that Simpson saw action again at UFC 102. After several changes, he finally faced off with Ultimate Fighter 3 runner-up Ed Herman.

Simpson looked impressive through the fight, taking Herman down at will and landing some very effective ground and pound in the process. It was his wrestling that eventually won him the fight. One of his hard takedowns injured Herman’s knee, which caused an end to the fight when Herman’s knee couldn’t keep up. Although the win came on a sour note, Simpson looked impressive and showed the UFC brass that he is ready to step up in the Middleweight division.

]]>https://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/new-blood-19-564/feed/0Back In The U.S.A.https://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/back-in-the-usa-563/
https://www.fightmagazine.com/mma-magazine/back-in-the-usa-563/#commentsFri, 13 Nov 2009 00:00:00 +0000Jason "Mayhem" Millerhttp://www.fightmagazine.comI live in the self-proclaimed best country on earth, and I tend to agree, since I pay taxes here, and refuse to pay for low-quality toiletry items. My grandfather was born here, the son of Russian-Polish immigrants, and had to endure hardships we would never fathom in this day and age. Sure, we have to [...]

]]>I live in the self-proclaimed best country on earth, and I tend to agree, since I pay taxes here, and refuse to pay for low-quality toiletry items. My grandfather was born here, the son of Russian-Polish immigrants, and had to endure hardships we would never fathom in this day and age. Sure, we have to bow to greedy insurance companies to keep our families safe, but it’s better than being like those hockey playing, snow-ball fighting, maple syrup-swilling Canadians. I really love America, and not just because most people here speak English – we have opportunities and freedoms afforded to us by our forefathers that we may have not landed into had we not been crapped out here, or swam here or been shipped here in a cargo container. I have the right to vote for elected office. I can own a firearm. I can worship the god of my choice, or like the heathen that I am, none at all, and no one can legally stone me to death. Most importantly for me, in my line of work, in many states of this great union, I have the right to put on 4-ounce gloves and punch, kick and choke another grown man on network television. I love America.

Although I have been living here, I’ve been making quite the commute to earn my bread, all the way over to Japan. I know what you are saying, “But Mayhem, you fought in Hawaii one time.” To which I say, “Come on smartypants, most of America doesn’t realize Hawaii is part of the U.S., so let’s just shut your mouth about it.” Point is, I’ve been away from mainland America and out of the public spotlight for quite a while. “But Mayhem, you do Jason Ellis’ radio show on Sirius 28 and XM 55 every Monday — they call it ‘Mayhem Monday!’”

I didn’t even know you had Sirius in your car, smart guy, and you don’t have to plug the Ellis show in my articles, I just meant I haven’t been in front of an American audience on regular television in quite a while. “I WATCH ‘BULLY BEATDOWN’ EVERY THURSDAY! ” OK, now get the fuck out of my article right this minute. Ahem, I have not FOUGHT on TV other than HDNet, which only the hardest of the hardcore have been able to find. Demand your cable provider get it now! And FUCK OFF. I told you to get out of here, or I’m going to kick you down the stairs, Grandpa.

Anyway, sorry about that, I am well aware that other than the most hardcore of the Mayhem Monkeys, most people may not have seen me fight since I got beat up by Georges St-Pierre back when I snuck down to 170. I lost a unanimous decision in a memorable blood battle that netted me $2,000 American dollars, getting licensed cost me $1,200 and I paid my trainer/manager 20 percent. So, I netted $600 to get my face smashed in on television. I realized after I paid my parents’ hotel room, that being famous wasn’t as cool as getting paid. So, I parted ways to fight across the Pacific in Hawaii and Japan.

I’m glad I did this for a few reasons. The most obvious, of course, is that I brought heaps of taxable income from a Japanese corporation, money that we Americans need to kick-start the economy. Also, I can now buy groceries, I don’t have to fight at welterweight, I got my mom LASIK and I got to go to exotic places, meet foreign people and knee them in the head. What I didn’t realize was that while I was behind the bamboo and coconut curtains, my American fans didn’t get to see me compete at all, and I have now become “The Bully Beatdown guy.” I don’t mind that at all, but it’s odd that in the MMA community I’ve always been known as the wacky fighter, and now I have most of my notoriety here in the states not as a fighter, as I’ve been for over 10 years, but as a wacky TV host, catering mostly to the tween boys that watch MTV — and maybe read this article. If that’s the case, put on your jammies and let Uncle Mayhem tell you a story.

Once upon a timeafter my lone UFC fight, in a magical kingdom called Japan, there was this fabled fight organization called “Pride.” You might have heard of it — yes, yes, it was glorious! Giant ring entrances that were like rock concerts, an earsplitting announcer and fighters from all over the world. A legendary brawler named Rampage Jackson did battle there. A champion Greco-Roman wrestler named Dan Henderson grew into a great fighter there, and some chap by the name of Anderson Silva honed the skills that would soon make him unstoppable in an 8-sided cage. Matches were held in a 4-sided ring with a white mat, which was great for the spectators, and the rules allowed for knees to the head of a downed opponent, which was, well, great for the spectators. The company had almost 40 fights, and began to hold shows in the U.S. — the kingdom of the UFC. Pride looked to be a real threat to “The Ultimate” but secretly was facing financial hardships, when suddenly, in a heroic bit of corporate maneuvering, the UFC put together millions of dollars and bought the company, its fighter contracts and its entire tape library in one fell swoop. This was very bad for Uncle Mayhem, because Pride was the only real competitor to the UFC, and due to my flashy entrances and crazy fighting style, Pride wanted me to go to them. This was very good for the UFC, because now MMA fans had only one company to choose from to watch their favorite sport. Do you kids know what a monopoly is? The UFC planned on having Pride shows in Japan, but Pride had played a dirty trick on the UFC. The Japanese wouldn’t let them onto TV there and the fighter contracts were something called “non-transferrable.” What happened was, Pride went sleepy forever and now we can see highlights from the million-dollar library during the UFC. The end. You kids go to sleep now, I’ve gotta check on Grandpa.

Hmm, he’s sleeping. While I’ve been gone fighting west of California (a nap in a plane ride over the Pacific), it seems that a sea of change has occurred. With the death (suicide? murder?) of Pride, the only place for a fighter to fight and be recognized at all is the UFC. If you really want to get famous, you’d better join the cast of The Ultimate Fighter, sign the contract for three years and get to breaking apart the house when the producers wheel in the free alcohol. Even if you don’t win the “six-figure contract” ($100,000 divided by three years) you will still be rewarded with chubby girls at Wal-Mart recognizing you.

Now, you can be a famous tough-guy and not have to shine big D-Effin-Dub-yoo’s shoes — just go to Affliction and … “HA! Affliction is not a fight company anymore! They sponsor UFC fights again! ” Yeah, well there’s always EliteXC. “NOPE, gone gone gone! ” Really, UFC ran them out of business? Goddamn. Ah well, they were dumb for using Kimbo — “Ha! He’s on The ‘Ultimate Fighter’ now! ” Goddamnit Gramps, I told you to get out of my article — get back in your cage! Well, I guess it goes without saying that the USA is still owned by UFC, but much of the top talent hasn’t caved to the pressure of signing with the juggernaut. What that means for you, the consumer, is that now you can watch top-level mixed martial arts on normal television, be it CBS or Showtime.

Strikeforce has quietly positioned itself in a place to have elite fights on network television — a feat that the UFC has not been able to accomplish yet. Not only that, but through some feat of negotiation and copromotion, it’s bringing Fedor to fight on regular television. Amazing — this is something that hardcore American fans have been awaiting for years. “My rabbit ears don’t work on this TV any more! ”

*sigh*

Don’t worry Gramps, we’ll get you the digital converter box before November 7. Not letting you see this card would just be inhumane.